


Students Rush In Where Pilots Fear To Tread

by thegreatwordologist



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/thegreatwordologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin has a crush on Douglas, and the students he lives with have noticed.  They decide its time to do something about it.  A 5+1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Students Rush In Where Pilots Fear To Tread

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=4424658#cmt4424658) in the Cabin Pressure DW meme.
> 
> Betaed and Britpicked by [Hamstermoon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamstermoon)

**Students Rush In Where Pilots Fear To Tread**  
or  
5 times the students meddled + 1 time they didn't have to

**1 - Sally and Andy**

"So I want to stop being a unicycle," Sally was saying, the words more than a little slurred as she listed to the right, her shoulder coming slowly to rest against Andy's and staying there. "I mean, 'snice, going out for a drink or something, but when I get home, there's only one of me, and there's always three of the keyholes and the bed shakes for all the wrong reasons, and... don't you think, Martin?" Wide, brown eyes, a little too liquid for Martin's comfort, entreated him, and he ducked his head down, using the excuse of gulping down the last of his rum to keep his eyes occupied so that he wouldn't have to meet that liquid stare again.

"Ah," he tried, stumbling over the syllable. "I wouldn't... I mean... I'm not, I wouldn't, I just..." The words tumbled over themselves, twisted 'round each other, and finally seemed to dribble into a puddle on the table in front of them, as Martin stared at the ice in the bottom of his glass morosely. He was fairly sure he was a right fool, since the ice seemed to have doubled at some point in the evening. The glass had doubled, too, now that he noticed, and for a moment, the fascination of two glasses swirling ice around was enough to derail his thoughts.

"Right," came Andy's voice, and it was hard to lock onto, though it seemed more solid than his own or Sally's had been. "I think that's enough for the two of you, don't you?" Martin's eyes dragged up to Andy's face, noticed the way the student's arm had shifted to curl around Sally's shoulder, and even through the haze of two rums and no dinner, he could remember that meant Something. But the apologetic look Andy was giving him meant something too, didn't it? "We shouldn't have walked the whole way here," he was saying, and Martin closed his eyes so that he could focus on the words without visuals getting in the way. "I can only manage one of you tonight. Martin, mind if you stick around here a little while longer? I'll make sure someone comes to get you."

There was something pleasantly freeing about the alcohol, Martin decided, because he could nod easily, without having really tracked the conversation at all. And he didn't mind terribly much that Andy was getting up and coaxing Sally out of the booth, or that the two were wandering off without him, pausing at the bar long enough to exchange some money with the bartender and say a few words. He did rather like the fact that another glass of rum was set down in front of him, because he liked the sweetness of it, particularly now that the alcohol burn had dulled away. But without company, it wasn't much fun to sit alone, so he drank the glass quickly, savoring it for only a few minutes before stumbling out of the booth and making his way toward the bar. He was only halfway there when the bartender noticed him and waved him toward the door, so he shrugged and left. Andy had promised to pay, he recalled, very hazily.

When Douglas arrived at the bar some ten minutes later, summoned by Andy, Martin was already well on his way home, drifting from the grass on one side of the pavement to the other, sometimes well into peoples' yards, but still awake enough to keep walking and aware enough to stay out of the street and keep in the general direction of the house he shared with the students. Just before he collapsed into his bed, alone in the attic, he spared a thought to trying to recall just what Sally had been saying about wheels. Somehow, he just couldn't remember.

  
**2 - Janet, Stephen, and Karen**  


"I still can't believe you roped me into this," Martin murmured, shaking his head at Janet. She tossed her brunette hair out of her face and grinned back at him, unrepentant pearly teeth twinkling in the sunshine.

"I told you, everyone said we needed a ginger to round out the options, and you're the only ginger I know. Besides, you know it's for a good cause," she added pointedly, and Martin sighed, because he knew exactly that. When Janet had first cornered him on the stairs, staying in his way while she had her say about CRY and the good it did, he'd been late and had agreed without question, just to get Janet out of his way before Carolyn killed him. He hadn't given it another thought until they'd arrived back in Fitton the next day and he'd had a chance to go to the library and look up exactly what CRY was on the aging and truculent computer. What he'd read had left him a little shaken, and when he trudged back to his attic that night, he'd made a wholly secret promise to himself, deep within his heart, that half of the next fee he made with his van would be sent to the organization. He'd cornered Janet the next afternoon to find out exactly what she'd been on about, and by that night, he'd been hopeful about helping to earn money in the amateur carnival, even if it was at a kissing booth.

And then he'd made the mistake of mentioning CRY to Carolyn, and the carnival to Arthur, and the next thing he knew, all of MJN had promised to come support the cause. He'd been grateful, at the time, that they hadn't known about the kissing booth, and he hadn't felt particularly awkward when Carolyn and Arthur had shown up, because any amusement Carolyn took at his plight was derailed by Arthur's rambling monologue about the games and rides and food and drink, all of it punctuated repeatedly with 'brilliant' until even Stephen was fighting laughter. The battle was lost the moment Arthur realized where they were and declared that the kissing booth was even "Brillianter!" and Carolyn handed over two tickets, for which she recieved a cheerful, chaste kiss on the lips from the raven-haired Stephen, and Arthur was treated to a blonde peck from Karen. Martin had frowned a bit at her, but she shrugged, because Arthur was already telling Martin goodbye. After all, the darts game next booth had a stuffed polar bear to win.

The encounter had left Martin with a smile on his face, and he joshed with the students, turned to face them rather than look out at the crowd. That, he later decided, was exactly why he hadn't had the good sense to run when Douglas had approached. "Well, hello there. A kissing booth? I had no idea... _Sir_ ," Douglas noted, voice winding lazily through the chatter to coil around Martin's heart and squeeze. "One ticket? I do believe I have some to spare, young lady," he added to Janet. "Must I pick, because I've always rather liked surprises."

Martin couldn't quite hear Janet's response over the blood rushing up to fill his cheeks and ears, but seeing Douglas lean forward eyes closed and lips settled into an oddly-comfortable medium between smirk and pucker, he could sort out what the response had been. What he hadn't expected was for Janet to reach out and curl her hand around his elbow, jerking him over to stand in front of Douglas and giving him a pointed look that said, clearer than words ever might've, 'You haven't given enough kisses.' Martin froze, swallowing as he stared at Douglas' lips for a long, silent moment. It would be so easy to lean in and get it over with, but what then? He had to work with the man after this! And even if that weren't reason enough, could he possibly lean in for a kiss that gave nothing away about how his heart pounded near Douglas, or the way he had to fight to keep his breathing from going funny or his mind from wandering over ways to get Douglas' shirt off?

In the end, Martin reached out in turn and grabbed Karen. When she scowled at him, he hissed in her ear, "You owe me. You totally blew off Arthur's kiss!" Her glare, as he straightened, was blacker than pitch. 

But Karen didn't skimp on Douglas' kiss. And Douglas didn't return for another one.

  


**3 - Andrew and Mark**  


"You're just going to have to find a place to stay," Andrew shrugged, offering Martin a sheepish smile when the pilot sagged down. "It's been on the calendar for weeks now. House needs it, really, and Mark said that a couple of overnight bug bombs would be a lot cheaper than trying to hire pest control. I mean, unless you wanted to help with that?"

Martin flinched a little at the thought of digging into his meagre money supply for pest control, especially when the students had apparently already procured bug bombs, and shook his head. There was no help for it. He'd just have to spend the night in his van... or possibly the MJN portacabin. "No, sorry. Don't worry about me, I'll sort out something," he told Andrew earnestly, thoughts already flickering through his mind of heading straight up to the airfield and hanging his uniform on the back of the door. He could possibly use GERTI's lavatory, in a pinch, and he was pretty sure that Douglas had left a half-full bottled water on Carolyn's desk.

"No need," Mark noted, from behind, and when Martin spun around, he grinned cheerfully, holding Martin's phone out to him. "Figured you'd be so tired after the latest flight that the least I could do would be to help you make arrangements. That Douglas friend of yours is pretty nice, isn't he? Offered you his sofa and said if you got there early enough, he'd even make enough dinner for two." Martin stared hard at Mark, but he couldn't seem to find the slightest hint of malice behind the student's eyes. Mark looked open, friendly, and happy to have helped. In fact, for a moment he reminded Martin so completely of Arthur that Martin found himself waiting for the word 'brilliant' to come out of his mouth. It never did.

"Ah, thanks," Martin finally managed, awkwardly taking his phone back and glancing down at the text exchange. It was all perfectly innocent and aboveboard, perfect fodder for Douglas' endlessly snarky witticisms. The promise of a shared, homemade dinner warred with the thought of just what sort of jibes Douglas might craft from this particular incident, and Martin sighed, turning to head upstairs and get his uniform and toothbrush.

When Douglas texted later that night wondering just how late it would be before Martin arrived, Martin's reply was short and... well, not very sweet at all. But at least he was safe from Douglas' teasing... over this.

_09:24pm: Made other arrangements. Thanks, tho._

  


**4 - Kelly and Sarah**  


The flight back from Nadi had been a smooth one, with no passengers to irritate or upset, and quiet word games that had lost Martin half the cheese tray. When Martin got out of the plane, it was with Douglas reading lazily in the flight deck, showing no sign of moving before he'd finally finished his chapter. Martin had tried, briefly, to rouse Douglas, but even he could understand the lure of a good novel versus the draw of filling in logbooks, so he made his way to the portacabin solo, already going over each of the fields in the books mentally. Mind drifting, eyes only vaguely focused on the portacabin at best, it was a surprise when he ran straight into one stretched-out arm, chest falling to a stop against a palm and splayed fingers as he blinked down at Carolyn owlishly.

"What do you think you're playing at, Martin?" The look in Carolyn's eyes was steadily annoyed, with a dash of curiosity and a hint of weariness. "MJN is not a tourist attraction, nor is it opening a branch as a floral delivery service." She gestured into the small building itself, and Martin's eyes followed the hand's waving until they came to rest on the giant bouquet of daises and baby's breath, fanned out above a rather simple, white ceramic vase.

"The arrangement, Carolyn?" he asked weakly, torn between trying to sort out exactly how it had come to be there in the first place and why Carolyn seemed to think it was his fault.

"Yes, Martin," she agreed, her gaze as pointed as her words. "The arrangement that has been giving me hayfever for the last seven hours. Why you insisted that the students deliver it at eight this morning when you knew you wouldn't be home until three is beyond me. I might have even been forgiving of the box of tissues I've been through since they brought it in, except that the arrangement is not for me, and I can't think why you would insist on early delivery here today when the man to whom these belong has been keeping you company over the cheese tray all day. Take them, Martin," she added, as he opened his mouth to say something, to offer some apology, to make the conversation somehow less awkward than it was. "Deliver them. Bin them. Cart them home. I do not care where they go, so long as they do not enter my sight again."

"...Sorry, but... who delivered them, Carolyn?" Martin managed, all thoughts of logbooks forgotten as he swallowed and stared at the flowers. For Douglas? From him?!

"Kelly and Sarah. The next time I see either of them in my office, Martin, they had better be paying customers. Am I clear?"

"Perfectly, Carolyn," Martin assured her, hurriedly. He ducked into the room, seized the vase, and ducked back out, feeling a sneeze come over himself. The daisies were entirely too pungent, he decided. They were also going to his van. Maybe the local church could use them as a donation.

As he carried them out, he couldn't help feeling lucky that Douglas' tradition of staying after to finish his chapter remained unbroken. Who knew what might have happened if he'd been first off GERTI?

  


**5 - Robert**  


The white envelope on Douglas' windscreen, caught under the wiper, was blatantly obvious to Martin as he passed Douglas' car. It wouldn't have been obvious if Douglas bothered to park like most people, boot facing out. But no, Douglas always spent an extra few seconds carefully backing into place, and the few times he'd been forced to give Martin a lift, it had been rather obvious to the captain that having his car positioned to leave quickly had nothing to do with his habit. Instead, the motive was squeezing in those last few seconds of leisure before work, and Douglas had affirmed that particular realization each morning with a loving pat on the Lexus' bonnet before walking in.

Of course, Martin wouldn't have been looking over at Douglas' car in the first place had it not been for Arthur's rather gleeful dust-drawn happy face over the right indicator. For the last four days, ever since Arthur had drawn it, Martin had glanced over, saw it still in place, and grinned. It was like a tiny extra dose of Arthur's sunshine before Martin was forced to head back to the attic and van, welcomed because it came with no well-meaning but unintelligent commentary. It was just a little smile to light him on his way, and it worked. But the sight of the envelope drew more curiosity from Martin, and he trailed to a stop as he considered. On the one hand, this was an envelope obviously meant for Douglas, tucked under his wiper so it wouldn't fly away, and as there wasn't a similiar one to be found either on his own van or Carolyn's car, Martin was rather certain it was something personal.

But on the other hand, there were the daisies. Red, blue, pink, orange, yellow, purple, all the colors had appeared in the overlarge bouquet, a sensory riot of color and scent whose only saving grace was how mercifully silent it was. The daisies had been over the top, but they had also been evidence that the strange fates crashing Martin's life against Douglas' were puppets whose strings were guided by his fellow housemates. It was entirely possible that the students were well-meaning. Martin flattered himself that he wasn't a bad housemate, really, and he didn't think any of the students had any real issues with him. But the flowers were too much. He wasn't ready for Douglas to know anything about how he felt, and that envelope, so subtle and benign beneath the sunlight, seemed to scream conspiracy to him.

In the end, Martin cast a nervous glance over each shoulder, but with Douglas nowhere in sight, he felt safe darting in to grab the envelope. He wasn't stupid enough to read it there. It would take nothing to go to his van, find a way to ease the envelope open, read the letter inside, and if it really had nothing to do with him, he could return it quite simply. If, on the other hand, it was another scheme, he could do away with it without Douglas ever being the wiser. He shut himself away in the front of his van, satisfied with the reasoning and trying not to think about the fact that the envelope was glued shut, because short of taking it home and steaming it open, he really didn't have much choice. And if it was time sensitive and not from one of the students, Martin would have to own up about opening it, and just the thought made him cringe a little, stomach flipping lightly in worry.

He needn't have worried. Once he got the letter out, the sight of Robert's rather distinctive handwriting made him sink back against the sunwarmed seatback with a sigh of resignation. He didn't bother to read most of the letter. He didn't really want to know what Robert had written to Douglas, because it was apparent from the first sentence that this, like the flowers and possibly the kissing booth, was yet another bid for Douglas to give Martin more attention. He really wasn't equipped to deal with whatever sort of pathetic sod Robert's portrayal showed.

He would never tell Douglas how he felt, he'd already decided. After all, nobody wanted an amateur pilot and only marginally professional man with a van in their life. He was just lucky they were friends!

  


**+1 - Martin**  


His latest van job had been the tipping point. Martin had finished on time, efficient and organized, and had been paid generously for his troubles. Too generously, he'd tried to protest, pointing out that it was twice what he'd quoted the man, but his client had countered with the argument that he'd asked for more work than the initial quote had included, though Martin secretly was certain it wasn't twice as much work.

Most of the money had gone in a flash. There was rent, and petrol, and groceries, and a couple of minor fixes to the van to make it a little more roadworthy, but when all was said and done, he'd been left with enough for a couple of Toblerones, especially once he counted the tiny extra bits he'd kept in an old spaghetti jar in the back of his cupboard. He'd cleaned out the jar a week after starting at MJN Air, a week after meeting Douglas Richardson, because for seven days after that first meeting, he'd stretched out in bed, closed his eyes, and imagined large, skilled hands cupping his cheeks, and a smooth, warm voice coaxing him to sleep with gentle words. The fantasies weren't sexual, really, though Martin had those as well. But sexual fantasies were throwaway, easy to come by and easy to toss aside. It was the imaginary tenderness he thought of when he started his little glass-jar saving account.

He might've used the money for himself, but after working so long toward this goal, after the way the students had noticed and nosed their way in with bumbling attempts to help, Martin had promised himself that the moment he had the money for his plan, he would put it into effect. If it came up a failure, as all of his plans were wont to do, then at the very least, he could begin trying to move on with his life, and he wouldn't fear Douglas noticing the letter or the flowers or the kissing booth, because Douglas would be mocking him already. Mocked or not, Martin had to believe there would be something freeing about having it all over and done with, because it wasn't the fear that was killing him anymore. It was the waiting, and that niggling sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, Douglas really actually rather liked him.

So Friday found him preparing for GERTI's next trip in the flight deck, already running through his mind exactly what he might need to do with this all out in the open. Carolyn had them doubled up on hotel rooms, herself with her son and Martin with Douglas, and an odd mix of celebration and client-planning left them with an extra day between trips, so that they were going to be away from Fitton not just overnight, but for two nights, with a miserable pittance of money for food that still looked like plenty to the man whose shopping trips stretched a pound as far as it could possibly stretch without snapping. Martin could've put his plan into effect at the end of it all, with the two nights behind him, the trip behind him, and Douglas leaving rather than arriving, but it wouldn't have felt quite proper that way, and Martin was afraid of many things, but years working at MJN, under Carolyn and Douglas both, had rather inured him to mockery or bullying. He would feel miserable, but he would get over it, life would go on, and his chest would feel a little looser for the first time since he'd met his first officer.

All those rather meandering reasons led him to place the Toblerones on Douglas' chair, one tilted against the other at a jaunty angle, with a bright red Christmas bow (meticulously saved from the year before) at its tip. And then he began work on his preflight checks, waiting silently for Douglas to arrive.

"Martin," Douglas finally greeted him, stepping into the flight deck as late as ever, and Martin simply nodded, tensing as he waited for the moment of understanding. It wasn't long in coming. Douglas paused before his chair, staring down at the little display before smiling and turning to Martin. "Did Arthur..."

"No, Douglas," Martin said, his voice low and a little quiet, shy without being quite the panicky stumble that he was so very used to from it. "No, those were from me. Are from me. They're a gift."

"And to what do I owe Sir's unprecedented largesse?" Douglas purred, scooping both chocolate bars out of his chair and sinking down as he examined them thoughtfully. "Is Sir trying to bribe me somehow? Possibly even before-the-fact?" There was interest in his eyes as they transferred from the bars to Martin, leaving the captain to squirm a little uncomfortably under the regard.

"No bribe," he managed, before drawing a breath and holding it until a count of ten. Once he was done, he turned and met Douglas' eyes. "Just a gift. I promised myself that I'd say something if I ever reached this point, and here the point is and I've reached it and now I have to say something and it's really hard with you staring at me like that, Douglas!" Well. The words had started out calm, perhaps, but Martin could feel his heart speeding up in his chest, and the way the blood it pumped seemed to find a home in his cheeks, spreading warmth over his face. His leg bobbed up and down, shaking the chair he sat in, but he held Douglas' eyes. It was a promise, just as getting his license had been a promise, and he kept the promises he made himself. Watching Douglas' left eyebrow travel upward in a sardonic arc, Martin drew a calming breath, and tried again.

"I like you, Douglas." Better to get it out fast, blurted with abandon before his brain could muddle the words into another tangled knot. "I have ever since I met you, and even though I sometimes hate you, too, I haven't wanted anyone else since I got to know you. I know you're not interested in me; how could you be, I'm just a man with a van really, not even a proper pilot, not a professional one anyway, but that's okay because I'm still up here flying with you and you have to know by now that I can manage it..." Right. He was babbling again, and Douglas' eyebrows had both migrated to somewhere near his hairline. Martin lifted his hands, rubbed his face hard, and drew another breath.

"Forget what I just said, it was all scrambled up. I fancy you. There. I've said it, I'm done. It's really okay if you don't fancy me back, you never would, you have all those ex-wives and cabin crew and... anyone you want, really, but that's just fine because I'm not trying for any of them. I don't need them, not when you're around, and I like it when you're happy. You get this smile like the cat that got the cream, and I like that smile because it's just so you." Martin closed his eyes, biting his lower lip for a moment before sighing. One more try, maybe without the eye contact, and then he'd call it quits and strike up a word game and everything would be fine.

So he kept his eyes closed, took his calming breath, and opened his mouth to speak once more. He never managed to say a word. Douglas' response was silent and swift, but it told Martin more than any words he might've managed, that Douglas Richardson, Sky God, fancied Martin right back.

Neither of them noticed when Arthur paused in the doorway, eyes goggled and smile beaming at the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> [CRY](http://www.cry.org.uk/)
> 
>  
> 
> is a real charity organization in the UK, and sounds like a pretty worthy cause to me, and has an American branch for those curious readers who aren't in the UK themselves. You can find out more about the UK charity at the link above. <3
> 
> In my headcanon, Sally and Andy end up making a go of it after that night.


End file.
